Mister Blue Skull Arrives
by lisaapostole
Summary: My thought on where Mister Blue Skull came from and how Sherlock came to have him.


It had been 2 months since Papa died, and I still hadn't gone into his study to go through his things. I never liked going into his study. It wasn't a warm and fuzzy place, like most fathers studies. It always felt more like it belonged in an episode of The Adams Family, or The Munsters. Before he died I would avoid going in, unless I had to, and even then I made it as quick as possible. I would run the mail in and drop it on his desk and run out. Never looking around the room, not wanting the room to know I was in there, as if it could know I was there.

Two weeks after he died the package arrived. I went through the mail, as I always did. Bills in one pile, junk mail right into the trash. I looked at the package, just an ordinary packing tube, the kind of thing documents were shipped in. I wasn't sure what to do with it. I didn't really want to open it and have more issues to deal with, so I made the decision to just place it on his desk, and deal with it at a later time. I knew I would have to go in and clean out his things eventually. I opened the door and stood there for what felt like hours, just standing in the doorway, looking into the dark room. The heavy drapes were still pulled tight, blocking out the bright sunlight, making the room feel more like a crypt than a study. The light from the hall didn't go far in lighting the room, making the shadows look all the more spooky and uninviting. I took a deep breath, I could smell the dustiness of the room, I couldn't remember the last time Papa had opened the window in there, which made it all the mustier. I ran in, tossed the tube on his desk, sending papers flying and ran back out, slamming the door behind me.

That evening, I sat in the living room, drinking tea and listening to the silence in the house. But the house wasn't all that quiet. I could hear the thump thump of the dryer in the laundry room, and the light clink of the dishes in the dishwasher, and the whispers coming from the study. I sat up, a bit straighter in my chair and listened again. I heard the thump thump of the laundry, and the clink of the dishes. No whispers. My mind was playing tricks. I missed my Papa. I closed the lights in the living room, placed my empty cup of tea in the sink and headed up to bed. As I walked past Papas study I paused, looking at the heavy door. I remembered hearing him talk to himself in there all the time, that must have been why I thought I heard whispering. I trudged up the stairs, and put myself to bed. My dreams were filled with visions of Papa and his office, and the package talking to me. I awoke the next morning feeling more tired than I had the night before.

That morning after I had dressed and eaten I decided to go into his bedroom and pack up his clothing. I opened the door to his room and was overwhelmed by his smell, a mix a cologne and cigars. It made me smile. His room was very different from his study. It was bright and full of light. Thin lace curtains rather than heavy drapes covering the windows. I smiled as I realized he had kept it exactly as Mother had it before she died. It took me a week to go through everything in that room. Mostly because I spent so much time reminiscing over everything. Everything I touched brought back memories.

Every night I would sit in the living room, listening to the sounds of the house, and every night I could swear I heard whispering coming from his study. I was starting to think I was going crazy. Finally after many weeks I had cleaned out everything that was Papas, except for his study.

After two months I knew I had to get in there. I spent the day out in the garden, every now and then glancing over to the window of his study. That evening rather than sit and drink my tea, I decided to clean out his study. I stood at the door, focusing on the dark grain of the wood, listening. Finally I worked up the courage to open the door. Silly that I had to convince myself, at my age that it was ok to enter. I reached out and grasped the shiny brass knob, turning it slowly and pushing open the door. Still I stood there, looking into the darkness, listening, fearing what I might hear. I closed my eyes and stepped in. The room was cooler than the rest of the house. I chalked it up to the fact that it was closed up, and the warm summer sun never really made it's way into the room. I closed my eyes and stepped in, half expecting the room to attack me for daring to enter. I moved through the darkness to his desk, and turned on his lamp. The soft glow of the old bulb filled the room with its dim light. I stood in the middle of the room, looking at all the oddities that had been his. Bottles filled with the strangest things, books piled on the floor and shelves, taxidermied creatures, their eyes looking at me accusingly, for disturbing their sanctuary.

I began cleaning at the far side of the room, leaving his desk for last. I dusted and piled, tossing out old receipts and crumpled up papers. All the while, the package on his desk seemed to call to me, begging to be opened. Finally, I had no choice but to clean his desk. I went through all the old mail I had piled on it. There were letters from his alma mater asking for donations, one letting him know it was time to renew his drivers license, a note from the library about an overdue book and of course the package. I lifted the packing tube off the desk, turning it over in my hands. There was no return address on it, no marking at all to give a clue as to who sent it. I settled in the overstuffed leather chair Papa had in the corner. once more I turned the tube over in my hands, not even a post mark. Odd. I pulled the plastic end out of the tube, freeing the item inside. Whatever it was, it was carefully wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with simple twine. I hesitated opening any farther. I could almost feel that paper breathing in my hands. Pulling the ends of the twine, I carefully unrolled the butcher paper, revealing its contents. The image I held in my hands was both intriguing and disturbing. A simple skull on a blue background. No note, no signature, just the image. "Well, Mister Blue Skull, what shall we do with you?" I spoke as if I were going to get an answer. Silly. I rolled the poster back up and put it back in the tube, placing it back on the desk. I was tired, it was late. I wanted my tea and sleep. As I left the room, closing the door I thought I could hear a soft whimper.

I decided that night, that everything in the house needed to be sold. I set the date for the estate sale, and advertised in all the appropriate places. I had found a very nice frame and thought it would be good idea to put Mister Blue Skull in it. I ran the estate sale for three days. I was able to sell just about everything except for a few of the rattier taxidermied critters, and Mister Blue Skull. The day after the sale I packed up the remaining items to toss out. I hadn't yet decided what to do with Mister Blue Skull. As I was loading things into my car, a young man walked up the drive. A very good looking young fellow, and I found myself feeling like a schoolgirl looking at the cutest boy in school. "excuse me madame, are you the one running the estate sale?" "I'm afraid you are a bit late sir. Yesterday was our final day and there isn't very much left. Just a few dusty taxidermy pieces, a few books and a framed poster." "If it isn't too much trouble, I'd like to see them." I led him into the house, and into Papas study. His eyes grew wide, as though he loved everything he saw. "The poster please." I walked over to Papas desk and picked up the framed poster, and handed it to him. He looked at it for quite a while, studying it from different angles muttering to himself as he did. "yes….yes. I'll take it. How much?" I told him my price. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills, handed the whole thing to me and walked out of the house with Mister Blue Skull. I followed trying to give him the change, "Sir, your change?" "Nevermind that." and he kept walking, all the while looking at the print. "Can I at least get your name sir?" "Holmes, Sherlock Holmes" and with that he and Mister Blue Skull were gone.


End file.
